


Breaking the Silence

by Akikofuma



Series: Rose Thorns & Melodies [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Briefly mentioned GeraltxYen, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt is trying!, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Rated M Just To Be Safe, all the feels, mentions of subdrop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:20:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27620597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akikofuma/pseuds/Akikofuma
Summary: The Witcher gave a hum, acknowledging the others presence, but not turning around to face him. He knew what Jaskier looked like after a performance; skin covered in a light sheen of sweat, cheeks flushed red from strain, strands of silky soft hair stuck to his skin, curling at the back of his neck… It was one of Geralts favorite sights in the world, though he’d never admit it.He couldn’t let himself be distracted. Not now. Focus, he told himself. Focus for him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Rose Thorns & Melodies [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1914817
Comments: 26
Kudos: 194





	Breaking the Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, after I was encouraged my multiple people to write some more for this series, here it is! <3 I tried to not go too too heavy on the angst, but maybe just enough to tug at some heartstrings. <3
> 
> Thank you so much for everyone that supported me, and let me know how much they enjoyed the series so far <3 You guys make my day and keep me writing! <3

Geralt had been watching Jaskier carefully.

It had been months since ~~his~~ the bard had gotten stuck in his mind. They hadn’t spoken about that night again. Jaskier had clearly been embarrassed, awkwardly waving Geralt off when he’d inquired about his well being; the apples of his cheeks turning (a rather fetching) shade of red. 

Geralt had grunted and accepted it. If anyone knew what it was like desperately wanting to avoid a conversation, it was the white wolf. How many times had he brushed  ~~his~~ the bard off, cut him off with a grunt, and sometimes an added ‘fuck of’? 

Turnabout was fair game. The poet didn’t want to talk, and Geralt respected that. 

Except- 

Except that night still weighed heavy on his mind,  the healers words still ringing in his ears. 

“ _With the right person, there is no risk of falling. And to experience that level of trust, its a special thing, for both of you. The only question remaining, is whether you’ll be worth the trust he’s placed in you, Witcher. Or if you’ll leave your mark and abandon him, just as those before you.”_

Geralt sure as fuck didn’t want to be the one to leave any more unpleasant mark on  ~~his~~ the bard. The stink of Jaskiers fear still clung in the Witchers nostrils, a particularly nasty scent Geralt just couldn’t seem to be rid of. 

That night had changed so many things. 

He’d done his best to cut back on his insults, the mockery. Tried to be kind. Except, whenever he did, Jaskier would give him a look he’d never seen grace the musicians face before. Eyes too wide, lips slightly parted; surprise, Geralt would have guessed, had there not been that glint in blue eyes. He couldn’t make sense of it, couldn’t figured out what it meant. 

Jaskier would quickly recover, offering a small smile; tainted by a sadness Geralt wished to cure, so, so much. He felt the urge deep in his bones, vibrating in his chest with every beat of his slow, slow heart. 

He just didn’t know  _how_ .

How did one fix a problem without understanding it first? 

So afraid had he become of hurting  ~~ his ~~ the poet, that they hadn’t laid together since. He’d wanted to reach out, more times than he could count, yet just when his hand was about to make contact with smooth, soft skin- he was met with some sort of barrier, a wall, keeping the Witcher from actually touching.

Jaskier caught him sometimes, blue eyes hopeful before Geralt inevitably pulled back; watching the hope drain from his pretty face. Cursing himself, the Witcher would turn his back on  ~~ his ~~ the bard, knowing all too well that he was adding insult to injury; yet still unable to face the pain he’d caused. Hoping that offering an extra blanket during the night, or suggesting they stay at an inn when they didn’t have to, would show he cared. 

It wasn’t enough. He  _knew_ it wasn’t enough. 

Watched  ~~ his ~~ the songbird deflate more and more each time Geralt failed. Fuck, he was doing exactly what he’d been told not to do. Why was this so fucking hard?

He just needed a plan. A good, well prepared plan. Something to show Jaskier that he mattered, even if Geralt was incapable of saying the words. 

Things would go back to normal between them. Had to go back to normal. 

Or, before long, and he was at least certain of this; he’d lose  ~~ his ~~ the bard forever. 

* * *

“Geralt?” 

The Witcher gave a hum, acknowledging the others presence, but not turning around to face him. He knew what Jaskier looked like after a performance; skin covered in a light sheen of sweat, cheeks flushed red from strain, strands of silky soft hair stuck to his skin, curling at the back of his neck… It was one of Geralts favorite sights in the world, though he’d never admit it. 

He couldn’t let himself be distracted. Not now.  _Focus_ , he told himself.  _Focus for him_ .

“Was it too loud to sleep? Why aren’t you meditating then?” The bard asked, gently placing his lute onto the ground, leaning it against the wall with care. “You get awfully cranky without sleep, you know.”

Yes, he was aware of that. Geralt gave a non committal hum, standing from where he’d crouched beside his satchels. While Jaskier had been distracted, Geralt had planned a surprise for him. Cringed at the memory of the merchant he’d tracked down to acquire the final missing piece he needed. 

Jasmine oil. Geralt hadn’t even known that existed. But the scent was floral, without overwhelming sensitive Witcher senses. Perfectly suited for the evening he’d planned out. It had been humiliating; he was sure no Witcher had ever been seen in such an establishment before. Why would they? They had no use for expensive oils. 

The merchant, though careful not to show it, had definitely been amused when Geralt asked for oil suited to massages. One of the few humans that wasn’t shit scared of him (though there was still fear in those eyes), he’d raised his eyebrows in a rather suggestive way that made Geralt want to growl. 

It would all be worth it by the end, if only  ~~ his ~~ the bard would smile at him again, full of sunshine and happiness. 

“Have something for you.” Geralt gruffed,  hoping it would cover up what he was really feeling. Insecure. Fuck. He felt like a whelp all over again. This was exactly why he’d refused making any gestures of affection in the past. He wasn’t  _good_ at them. 

“Oh?” Jaskier wandered over to him, ever curious,  ~~ his ~~ the little lark. “What is it?”

Geralt swallowed hard, forcing himself to move before he chickened out. He held out his hand, the slim vial resting in the middle of his palm.

“..We were running low on lavender.” A lie, but he needed to say something. “Figured you’d like to try something new.” 

Jaskier stood frozen, glancing between the offered oil and the Witcher, as if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening. Geralt could only stand still, keep holding out the gift he’d gotten  ~~ his ~~ the poet.

“I- That’s. Quite thoughtful of you.” Jaskier said quietly, reaching out to run the tips of elegant fingers along the glass; every so gently caressing it, as if it was frail enough to break apart under the smallest pressure. Finally taking it from the Witchers calloused hands. “Thank you, Geralt.” 

“Hmm.” Geralt grunted, giving a small nod of his head. He watched as Jaskier pulled the cork out, gave it a sniff; pleasure radiating warmly from his chest outward at the pleased expression Jaskier made. 

“This smells wonderful, Geralt. And its not too much for you?” Ever caring,  ~~ his ~~ the songbird. He didn’t deserve half of it, the Witcher thought. Somehow, he’d been lucky enough to be bestowed Jaskiers love. Finally, Geralt would start earning it.

“Its fine.” He confirmed, nodding towards the tub he’d had prepared for  ~~ his ~~ the bard. “It’s still warm. Go wash off.” 

“Yes Sir.” Jaskier joked, though it lacked his usual  spirit. Tired, perhaps, Geralt thought. “Won’t take long. You can get to sleep if you like, I’ll try and be quiet.” 

“I can wait.” After all, there was more work to be done. If Jaskier let him.  _Please_ , Geralt thought.  _Please let me._

He didn’t help  ~~ his ~~ the poet wash. Reminded him too much of the night Jaskier’s mind had gotten stuck, the guilt of it resting heavy in the Witchers stomach. Tonight was not meant to be about sadness. Quite the opposite. 

Geralt sat at the edge of the bed, facing away from where  ~~ his ~~ the bard was bathing. Focused himself inward, his breathing. Steeling himself for what was yet to come. 

He’d never put this much effort into anything other than monster hunting, and Roach.  He’d sure as fuck never done it for Yen. He didn’t want to ponder on what that meant for now. 

“Geralt?”  ~~ His ~~ The poet softly called, rubbing himself dry before slipping into his small clothes and breeches. “Ready for bed?” 

“Not yet.” Geralt replied, forcing his voice to remain calm, even. He could do this. He’d faced far scarier things. This wasn’t scary. It was  _right_ . Motioning towards the bed, Geralt spoke up once more. “Was a long set tonight. Thought you could- do with a massage.”

Jaskier had done this for him so many times. Geralt could return the favor; wanted to return it.  ~~ His ~~ The bards hands always felt so good on his skin, and though he knew he lacked the skill to replicate it perfectly; hopefully, he would still be decent. 

Jaskier stilled again, jaw dropping, looking at Geralt as if he’d just grown an extra pair of arms and hands. It stung, like the spike of a manticore; knowing he’d done so little for Jaskier that offering a simple comfort, so often offered to him in the past, had  ~~ his ~~ the songbird freezing dead in his tracks. That would all change, if Geralt had any say in it. He’d never be an open book, free for Jaskier to read as he liked, but.. he could be  _better_ . A bit more open, more giving.

He was ripped from his thoughts by the scent of tears, mixed with the faintest hint of Jasmine. 

Alarmed, Geralt practically jumped to his feet, reaching out before he could think too much about it. Wanted to comfort, apologize, give Jaskier whatever he needed to stop his tears from falling. He’d fucked it up, of course he had, he should’ve just fucking  _said the words_ \- wished he was _capable_ of saying them.  


Jaskier backed away, escaping Geralts hands by less than an inch, toned arms coming to wrap around his slender form; holding himself, almost like a scared child.

“Why are you doing this?”  ~~ His ~~ The bard whispered, pretty white teeth digging into his plump lower lip. 

Geralt remained silent, trying desperately to find the right words. If he could just figure out the right thing to say, perhaps things could still be salvaged. 

“..You deserve it.” 

Jaskier laughed; a tortured, cracking sound. Geralt could do nothing but watch as  ~~ his ~~ the little larks features twisted into a mask of pain, of sorrow.  Tears glistening in the fires light.

“Not once have you treated me this way.” Jaskier muttered, shaking his head. “Its pity, isn’t it? You saw me fall apart, I- I can’t remember everything I said but- it must have been enough; enough for you to- gods, Geralt.”

“It isn’t pity.” Geralt growled, stepping forward, only to have  ~~ his ~~ the bard  take a step back. “Jaskier.” 

“No.” Jaskier breathed, shaking his head. “I can’t. I can’t do this Geralt. You- whatever made you do this, it’s not- it’s not real.”

_I don’t know what you mean!_ Geralt wanted to scream. Frustrated, confused, anxious. 

“It is.” He replied instead, insisting. That night might have been the trigger, but the underlying  _want_ to be what Jaskier needed- that had been there before. It was real. 

“It has to be.”  ~~ His ~~ The poet sniveled, shaking. “It  _has to be_ , because I can’t stand- gods, don’t you see what you’re doing to me? I can’t let you be kind to me, even sweet, when I know that, eventually, things will go back to how they always have been! It would kill me, Geralt.”

Geralt, slightly dumbfounded,  needed a moment to gather his thoughts. 

“It won’t.” He tried, pulling any words he could grasp from his chest. “It can- I can be kind to you, I should be- should’ve been kind to you all along-”

“But you  _weren’t!”_ Jaskier shouted, sending the white wolf reeling, ears ringing. “You weren’t, because I’m not the one you want! And the next chance you get, you’ll be back in  _her_ bed, stinking of her perfume when you come back and it’s all I can do not to fall apart-” 

~~ His ~~ The songbird sobbed, body shaking from the force of his emotions, so many Geralt had no chance to name half of them; too inexperienced, with too little time. 

“So you can’t do this, Geralt.” Jaskier continued, barely above a whisper. “You can’t break me any more than I already am. Especially because we both know that this isn’t-” He stopped himself, swallowed, carried on. “When we both know this is pity. I’m begging you. Please. Please don’t do this.” 

Geralt was lost. Had no idea what to do, what to say, how to get out of the mess he himself had created. By being careless, selfish; not appreciating what he’d been offered. 

“I’m sorry.” Jaskier breathed, turning and grabbing chemise, his doublet. Slipping them on  as Geralt watched, unable to move a single inch. “I- I have to go. Winter is around the corner, you’d be heading to Kaer Morhen soon anyway, we’ll just- part ways a bit sooner.”

Jaskier babbled, and Geralt remained still as a statue. 

“We’ll meet back up in spring, and we’ll just- forget this happened. We can still fuck, if you want. I- I’d like if we did.” 

~~ His ~~ The bard grabbed for his lute, shouldering it quickly. Geralt feeling like his feet had someone sunk into the ground, his vocal cords cut to bits. He just couldn’t. Fucking. Move. Couldn’t speak. Only watched as Jaskier reached the door, pulling it open harshly. 

Silence. 

“..Its not your fault, you know.” Jaskier whispered, halfway out the door. “We don’t chose who we love, Geralt. Please don’t blame yourself. It just.. wasn’t meant to be.” 

The door fell shut with a deafening thud, leaving Geralt behind. 

It had never been this way before. Geralt had always been the one to leave. 

The crushing sadness he felt, the defeat crawling into his bones and burrowing deep.. This is what he’d done to  ~~ his ~~ the bard, over and over. 

Practically collapsing onto the bed, Geralt wanted to howl into the night, to burn off all these feelings he didn’t know how to handle. 

The scent of  ~~ his ~~ the poet still hanging in the air, inhaled greedily by him. 

They wouldn’t see each other again, not for many months. 

Geralt ached with the knowledge.  His heart constricted by it.

Jaskier was right about one thing. Winter was coming. He’d be home soon. 

Geralts resolve strengthened with each passing minute.

He’d give  ~~ his ~~ the little lark the space he seemed to need. Give himself the time to think about everything. If he could truly leave Yen behind, for Jaskier. 

Whatever happened then, Geralt would be better. 

One way, or another.


End file.
